


And I went into a dream

by Rioviolina



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Child Abuse, Hospitals, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-06 00:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11024613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rioviolina/pseuds/Rioviolina
Summary: The early hours of a Friday morning John finds himself at Liverpool's Royal Infirmary with Paul. Does he keep his mouth shut?? He knows what's gone on, even if Paul isn't saying.Unofficial McLennon Big Bang ,2017





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first for a long, long time. Here goes

The large clock on the wall of the small room showed 1.06 a.m. John squinted at it through tired eyes, watching the second hand sweep round. There was something out of time about a hospital. It was like walking through a portal into a world where time existed differently. The fluorescent light flickered, garish and too bright. Watching the clock, forcing his eyes to stay open, John was vaguely aware of the sound of voices, one mature and authoritative. The other was soft, almost a murmur. Paul. John glanced across. The doctor who had strapped up Paul's wrist and done a neat row of stitches across his hairline was asking questions, and Paul was squirming uncomfortably. He was being evasive. He was always evasive. Feeling John's eyes upon him, the doctor glanced across, then turned his attention back to Paul.  
"Tell me again how this happened"he said.  
Paul hated being put on the spot. "I fell...slipped down some steps"  
The doctor looked disbelieving.  
"They were concrete steps..."Paul added, a hint of desperation in his voice.  
The doctor turned to look at John.  
"Were you with him when this happened?" he asked, one eyebrow quizzically raised.  
John could feel Paul's piercing gaze. He glanced across at him. Paul's eyes were wide, a silent plea for John to back him up.  
"Yeah" John croaked. He cleared his throat, tried again. "Yeah, I was"  
"Hmm", the doctor hummed, not convinced.He looked at Paul.   
"Strange that you have bruises that resemble fingermarks around your throat. Can you explain them"  
John saw the panic flash across Paul's face before it was quickly hidden.  
"Yeah, I, er, I had a scarf, no, bag, round my neck..just carrying stuff, y'know..it..must have rubbed.." Paul's voice trailed off, and he swallowed audibly.  
"How old are you?"  
Paul's chin raised. "Sixteen..nearly seventeen"  
"Well Mr Sixteen nearly seventeen, this isn't the first time we've seen you here, is it?"  
The colour drained from Paul's face. For a moment, John thought he was going to lose it, but Paul recovered quickly. He gave a megawatt smile to the suspicious doctor, and shrugged.  
"Just clumsy, I guess"  
John let out a breath he wasn't even aware he was holding.  
The doctor wasn't happy, but Paul wasn't admitting anything.

Half hour later, they were out of the Accident Unit, Paul clutching an appointment card to return the following week to have his stitches out. John slung his arm around Paul's slim shoulder's, and Paul slumped against him, mentally exhausted as well as physically.  
"Scarf, eh?" John queried. Paul shrugged.  
"It's all I could think of in a hurry"  
"But a scarf..in May?"  
Paul looked up at John from under long black lashes.  
He had no words left. He had no fight left. He was just tired. His head burned from the stitches, his wrist hurt. His whole body ached. but he couldn't say anything. John would only start whining about his father.  
His father..Paul's breath hitched. It hadn't used to be like this. When did it all go so wrong? They should have pulled together after Mary's death, but they hadn't. Instead they were more like strangers than father and son. And Jim had discovered whiskey. Well, he'd enjoyed it before, but as a Christmas treat, when the house smelt of mince pies and warmth and laughter. Now the house smelt empty, cold, unloved. Which just about summed up how Paul felt. Why try? Why even bother trying? Who for?  
As if John felt this despondency in his young friend, he gave a gentle squeeze to the shoulders he still had his arm around.  
"What now? Hmm? Shall we get you home?"  
Home. Well, there was nowhere else to go. His father would be passed out by now. After a short pause, Paul nodded. John steered him towards the bus stops outside the Infirmary. There would be a night bus getting them in the right direction.

.......................

John was aware of the weight of Paul leaning ever heavier against him, and breathed a sigh of relief when they entered the house. All was quiet. Jim must have been asleep..or passed out. John pushed Paul in the direction the of the stairs.  
"Go on up..I'll make us a cup of tea"  
Paul nodded as he hauled himself up the stairs to his room. Meanwhile John went into the kitchen.  
He stopped, appalled, for a moment. It was a scene of devastation. One of the kitchen chairs was upturned, a trail of milk from an overturned bottle dripping onto the floor, and across the door of a cupboard was a streak of blood. John knew, without being told, it would be Paul's.  
Mixed in with this chaos were two empty whiskey bottles dropped amongst what appeared to be a week's washing up. John shook himself. Whatever Mimi was like, at least he knew he was loved and looked after. He could hardly bare to think what it must be like for Paul.  
John found the teapot under the sink, and rinsed out a couple of cups. He put the kettle to boil on the gas cooker, and busied himself tidying up the desolate mess. There was tea in the caddy, but very little else in the house. He wondered, not for the first time, what on earth Paul lived on. No wonder he ate for England on the rare occasion Mimi let him stay.  
Tea poured, no sugar in the house, but a drop of milk left in a jug, John made his way quietly upstairs.   
Paul was sitting on his bed in the darkness, profile lit only by a pale glimmer of light coming through his window. He was distant, eyes blank, seeing nothing. He jumped slightly at John's entrance, and gave a wan smile.  
"Thanks"  
John shrugged. "It's okay..least I could do' He glanced at Paul. "How y'feeling?"  
Paul grimaced."Fantastic. Absolutely bloody amazing.  
John smiled. "Thought you might be. Here, drink it before it goes cold. It's the last of the milk"  
Paul took the cup from John with thin fingers that were slightly trembling. John wanted to take him, hold him, squeeze him, tell him everything would be alright but what could he do? He had no more control over his life than Paul did. Oh yes clever tough Lennon. No one could get past him. He was master of his own universe. If that was so, how come he couldn't even help his own best fucking friend? Trapped. That's what they were. Paul wouldn't say it. Wouldn't admit it. Valued his independence, his freedom..ha, if that's what you could call it. Didn't want to become a name for a social worker to take care of. Therefore he took the beatings, and when it got too bad, he stayed at George's, or, if Mimi would allow, at John's.   
John glanced round the sparsely furnished room. The desk shoved up a corner, Paul's Inny uniform draped over a chair, green and black striped tie hanging down, a reminder to John that here was a clever lad. A clever lad who saw no reason to try anymore.  
Paul finished the tea and handed the cup to John. There was the ghost of a smile "thanks"  
"Well..get yerself into bed then."  
Paul looked quizzically at John. John shrugged nonchalantly. "I ain't going' Paul. I'm staying here tonight..just till I know you're okay."   
Paul opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. He struggled one handed to remove his jacket but with a tenderness he didn't know John possessed, he was soon divested of it. John knelt down and removed his boots, and getting Paul to stand his hands went to Paul's flies. Paul flinched back, cheeks colouring. John just sniggered.."Look mate, if you can do this one handed, great, but these drainies are so tight you'd be lucky to get 'em off with two hands. Now let me."  
Stripped down to underpants and t shirt Paul collapsed into bed. Despite his worries, he couldn't keep his eyes open. He was vaguely aware of John moving around, and then felt the mattress dip as another body appeared beside him. There was a comforting warmth to his back, and he relaxed and let go.

John woke, dazed. Where was he? The memories of a few hours before came flooding back. Then he realised what had woken him. Paul's back was to him, but in the quiet darkness he could hear a whimpering. He lay still, hoping Paul would stop, but finally he felt pressured to respond. He put a hand on the slim waist next to him, and Paul froze. Literally froze. The noise stopped, his breathing stopped. John pushed himself up on one elbow and in the darkness could just make out Paul's features. His left hand was gripping his strapped up right hand as if in pain. Telltale tears were glistening in the pale light. Paul's breath hitched. He had thought John asleep.  
John was alarmed. Whatever had gone on, he'd never known Paul cry. He'd always shown a confident exterior to the world. It frightened John to discover There was a fragility to his best friend he'd not known about. "Paul?"  
He heard Paul draw a breath before replying. "Yeah?". It was meant to sound nonchalant, but it sounded broken. John leaned himself further over for a better look. Paul's eyes met his, wide, hesitant, and very open, as if John could see through him. What next possessed John he had no idea as he suddenly leaned over further and kissed those quivering lips. They tasted of salt from the tears, and something else that was essentially Paul. If Paul was surprised, it was no more than John was  
"Fuck..shit, Paul...I dunno why I did that..Christ.." John was so alarmed that Paul couldn't help but smile, the corner of his lips quirking despite the pain through his body.  
"Maybe you thought I was Cyn, eh?" suggested Paul.  
John snorted "Must be fucked out me mind. Hey..m'sorry, mate..didn't mean.."  
Paul squirmed round in the bed, and placed a finger against John's lips.  
"Ssh..It's okay..No harm meant. Go back to sleep"  
John flopped back down, colour flooding his cheeks. He'd meant to comfort Paul, and instead the tables had turned. Inside though his stomach churned. It wasn't a mistake. It was an impulse. Something inside that he'd kept pushing down. Hiding. Denying.  
Beside him, Paul wriggled to a more comfortable position. John was acutely aware of the lithe figure next to him, of the warmth emanating from Paul. As Paul's breathing became slower, John's became faster. He felt in a whirl. What had he done? And would Paul still be smiling about it in the morning?


	2. And I went into a dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens next....John tries to rescue the situation, reassuring Mimi, taking care of Paul, and I guess Jim might make an entrance but hey, I'm not planning this...It's whatever comes out!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've no idea what happens next because this fic has a mind of it's own...so let's see where it's going to go this time

"Fuck"  
The short exclamation jogged Paul from a deep,forgetting sleep.  
"Fuck, Fuck, Fuck"  
Paul emerged from the warmth of blankets to the shifting of his mattress, a figure clambering across him, and the sudden loss of a warm body that had been next to him.  
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck"  
Paul peeled his eyes open, somewhat groggy from sleep. In fact his left eye refused to open as the swelling from his stitches had extended in the night to cover most of his eye. In the morning light he could see John clad in nothing but boxers trying to locate his socks from amongst the pile of clothes on the bedroom floor.   
"Johnny?" he queried. "What's up?"  
John squinted at Paul, and came nearer to the bed, amber eyes narrowed, auburn hair sticking in all directions. His breath ghosted across Paul's face as he tried to focus. Paul smiled wryly, and handed John his glasses from the bedside table.  
"Try these" he said. John took them from him and stuck them on. The whole absurd figure made Paul giggle.  
"Well I'm glad someone finds it funny" John snorted, aware of the comical figure he must cut. Glasses perched on the end of his nose, he looked closer at Paul.  
"Fucking hell, Macca, you look like shite"  
Paul's smile dropped, and he drew back into himself.  
John turned his attention back to finding his scattered clothes.  
"Overslept" he muttered "Mimi will wonder where I am. I need to get back...explain.."  
"Explain?" Paul echoed, concern etched across his face.  
John paused in his dressing, and glanced over.  
"Don't worry, I won't say anything"  
Paul breathed a sigh of relief "Thanks" he muttered.  
"Hmm" John carried on dressing "Not that I'm happy with how things are going. Can't keep this up, Paul"  
Paul clutched the edge of his blanket and squirmed under.  
"I'm scared shitless that one day I'll find you..." John trailed off, unable to voice his worries. He gave himself a mental shake. "Right..where's me bloody t shirt gone?" Paul's left hand emerged from under the blanket clutching the missing object.  
John grinned, and pulled it over his head. He perched on the edge of the bed, and looked at Paul in concern. The bruises of yesterday had deepened, blue black against pale skin.  
"Look...I'll be back, okay?"  
"Okay"  
"Will you be alright? Reckon you can manage for a bit?"  
"John , I'll be fine, Don't fret"  
"Keep out your dad's way, ey?"  
"I'll try."  
John smiled.  
"Maybe get a wash? Or even a bath, eh? You stink!"  
Paul grimaced. "Gee, thanks"  
John's smile grew wider, trying to instil confidence into himself and Paul. A memory from the night before flooded John's mind, and his eyes became misty. Tenderly he pushed a lock of dark hair off Paul's face.  
He gulped, "Okay?"  
Paul looked bemused.  
"John, I'll be fine"  
"Right" John sprang to his feet. "I'll be quick as I can"

***************************

"Where on earth have you been? Do you have any idea how worried I've been?" Mimi's voice was strident, sharp in concern.  
John was genuinely apologetic. After the night spent with Paul, he figured there was something to be said for having someone who cared for you, no matter how frustrating and restricting it may be. John ran his fingers through his hair.  
"M'sorry, Mimi..I've been at Paul's"he explained.  
At the mention of Paul's name, Mimi's lips thinned.   
"Oh..that boy"  
All the generosity John had been feeling disappeared immediately.  
"He'd had an accident...I stopped with him"  
"I really don't know what the attraction is.." Mimi began.  
John looked up, annoyed.  
"Attraction?" he spat.  
"Always hanging around, it's not as if the boy.."  
"Paul, Mimi. He's got a name.."  
Mimi continued,unperturbed.."as if the boy has anything to offer you. For heavensake John, he's younger than you, and look at his background.."  
John exploded.  
"There's nothing wrong with Paul..nothing..you're just a snob, that's all, because he's from a council estate..."  
"And has a father on benefit who drinks"  
John halted, mouth ajar.  
Mimi smiled grimly "Oh yes, Don't think I've not heard" she sneered "There's talk.."  
"Women's gossip" John shot.  
"Not without cause, from what I've heard. Anyway "Mimi examined her nails thoughtfully "Since you're home, can I remind you that we have visitors tonight for the evening meal, and.."  
"Shit"  
Mimi frowned "John"  
"I forgot, okay? I was gonna ask you if I could have Paul round.."  
"No.."  
"..to stay..."  
."..no.."  
"..just a coupla days, please?.."  
"..no.."  
They glared at one another. Mimi drew herself up.  
"I will not have that boy.."  
"Paul.." John whispered quietly " he has a name"  
"..in this house. And that's final."  
John drew himself up, fists clenched at his sides.  
"Fuck you" he spat.  
Mimi's eyes widened. He could see the shock and surprise, though she swiftly hid it.  
"Well, I see he is having a good influence on you" she smiled serenely.  
John desperately tried again. "Mimi, please let me have him round. I promise I'll be good, he'll be good, I'll attend all the dinners you want with whoever you want and..."  
"No" Her smile was fake. It was victorious. She got up and moved into the kitchen. John cursed under his breath. "Bitch". He strode into the kitchen behind her, and began opening cupboards. Mimi looked alarmed.  
"John..what on earth are you doing?"  
His smile was cold. "Fancy a picnic. It's gonna be a nice day. Bread, cheese..." He lifted said objects out of the pantry " butter..let's see..milk. Jam...have we got jam?" His expression was innocent. Mimi was getting worried.  
"What the hell are you playing at" she hissed.  
He looked at her. "Picnic, Mimi. Nice things, yeah? Oh tea, yes, great British institution. Must have tea"  
"John, have you lost your mind? This is to do with that boy, isn't it"  
John turned his attention back to the pantry, sifting through jars. "Paul" he muttered. "His names Paul"  
Mimi heaved a sigh.  
"What do you want, John. What point are you trying to make".  
"Nothing, Mimi. Just want to do a picnic, that's all. You don't mind, do you? Promise I'll be back in time for dinner."  
"You're going to that boy's house, aren't you."  
John took a deep breath. Inside he was exploding, but he needed to get back to Paul, and he needed to get back with some food, cos God knows, there was nothing in that shithole of a house.  
The smile he gave Mimi was empty. So were his eyes. He looked directly at her as he gathered the food up and shoved it in a bag. His smile was grim. "Yes"   
She didn't attempt to stop him as he left, door slamming. Just shook her head ruefully.

*******************

It was quiet when he got back to the McCartney's. Front door unlocked, as when he'd left. He paused in the hallway, listening. No sound. He dumped the bag of groceries and made his way upstairs, no idea what he'd do if he bumped into the old man. John pushed open the door into Paul's room. The smell of stale sweat and unwashed bedlinen hit him full on in the stuffy confines of the small room. Paul had fallen to sleep again, arm flung out of bed, dark hair a mess. John sighed. God..no wonder his aunt wanted to keep him out of this situation. Faced with this dilemma, he truly didn't know what to do He recalled some words George had spoken to him after one of the first occasions he'd tried to help Paul. George had looked at him in that solemn way he had, critical of John's almost religious fervour to rescue Paul from his situation. "He doesn't need a knight in shining armour to protect him, y'know. He just needs someone around to pick up the pieces when it's all over". John drew another deep breath, and perched on the edge of Paul's bed. He gave him a shake.   
"Paul..eh..come on, mate."  
Paul's eyes flew open..well, at least the right eye did, the left still being glued shut by bruises. Alarm, fright, fled across his face before he recognised John. He drew a shaky breath.  
"Christ, John, you scared the life out of me"   
John smiled grimly. "C'mon Macca. You can't lie here all day stinking the place out. I've brought some food round. Reckon you can get a bath if I rustle something up?"  
Paul struggled to sit up using just his left arm. John resisted the temptation to help him.  
"Will there be any hot water?"  
"Should be" Paul was breathless from the physical exertion.  
"Okay..I'll run you a bath. Can you manage on your own?"   
Paul coloured slightly, memories of the night before flooding back.  
"Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine"

********************** 

John busied himself in the kitchen, giving Paul space and privacy to get cleaned up. Once John was sure Paul was in the bath, he attacked Paul's bedroom, stripping the bed and flinging open the window. In the bathroom he could hear Paul humming...a reassuring sound. "Mimi would be proud of me," John thought," if she could see me being this domesticated" but the reason behind it wouldn't be approved, that he knew. Paul emerged from the bathroom while John was still clearing his bedroom, skimpy towel slung round his narrow hips, hair dripping. He paused at the sight of John, uncomfortably aware of his physical appearance. John, although trying to avert his eyes, couldn't help but notice the bruises that bloomed across Paul's chest. John cleared his throat "Er, just cleaning up your room. You're a mucky little sod, aren't ya? Reckon you can attempt to dress yourself? Got some grub downstairs"  
The tension in the room was palpable. John was strongly aware of Paul's physical presence, and Paul, in turn, had cheeks that were flaming red.  
In fact, Paul seemed to have lost the use of his voice and could only nod dumbly. John glanced at him, and gave a hesitant smile. He indicated the bedlinen he held in his hands.  
"I'll, er, just shove this in the washer, yeah?"  
Paul nodded again, a faint smile. "Thanks"

John was relieved to escape to the kitchen. By the time he'd put the washer on, made a pot of tea and made a substantial amount of cheese on toast, Paul appeared in the kitchen looking more in control of his emotions. He was barefoot and his hair was still wet, he'd slipped on an old pair of jeans and a loose shirt which was partly buttoned, at least as much as possible with one hand. His eyes lit up at the sight of the food, and as if in agreement his stomach gave a loud rumble. Both John and Paul burst out laughing, and the tension was broken.  
"John, you're amazing" Paul chuckled. John grinned,and pulled out a chair.  
"Dinner is served, m'Lord"  
"M'Lord?"Paul scoffed, as he took the seat. Their eyes met and Paul caught his breath. There was an emotion in John's intense gaze that he couldn't, or didn't, want to translate. John held his gaze, and licked his lips nervously. He reached forward and gently cupped Paul's cheek. "Paul..." he whispered.  
A voice cut through the moment. A voice that caused terror to flood Paul's face. The voice of his father.  
"What the fucking hell is going on here?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So..not as happy with this chapter..it felt very turgid.What d'you think?? Comments appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tries to intervene, Jim gets his comeuppance, the Harrison's step in to help, Paul is just trying to hang on in there .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, still learning here, did a draft and lost it. Ho hum...this was the second attempt. Being on holiday has given me more writing time than I thought I'd get

Paul started to his feet, eyes wide with terror, fight or flight written across his face. John quickly placed himself in front of the younger boy, and turned to face Jim. The old man's eyes were bloodshot, his breath reeking of whisky, the fumes strong enough to intoxicate anyone who came close enough. Jim's glance dismissed John as being of no consequence..a fatal error on his part...as he shoved John out of the way and delivered a vicious backhander across Paul's face. The force of it knocked Paul off his feet, into the back door. His head hit it with sickening force, and he slithered onto the floor.  
John saw red. Rage fuelled every cell of his very being. With a roar he turned on the old man, his fists viciously pumelling, his breath coming in broken spurts, unaware of his bloodied knuckles. Only when Jim, after a feeble attempt to retaliate, had slipped to the floor the opposite side of the kitchen to his son, did John stop.  
His chest heaved, lungs burning,, sweat dripping from his hair into his eyes. As he sucked air into his lungs, he became aware of a keening.  
"Ohmygod,ohmygod,ohmygod,ohmygod"  
Paul's knees were drawn up to his chest, his hands over his face.  
"Ohmygod,ohmygod..." It was whispered from between white lips. John crossed swiftly to him.  
"Paul?"  
"Ohmygod,ohmygod.." Paul was rocking to and fro, caught in a nightmare, a dream he couldn't escape from.  
John slid down to the floor, and gathered him into his arms.  
"Ssh, Paul, ssh, it's all over, ssh, look at me, come on" John pushed the damp hair off Paul's face. But still the slight figure rocked and shook and keened.  
John's glance swept the kitchen, the still body of Jim McCartney crumpled on the floor. He hugged Paul firmly, while his mind fluttered on many levels. How long for manslaughter? Murder? Would vindicating circumstances be taken into consideration. Tears sprang to John's eyes. Christ, he'd really fucked it up. On the table, the cheese on toast cooled, the tea stewed. The before and the after.  
John gave a deep sigh, and pulled Paul to his feet. "Come on" he muttered "let's get you out of this mess".

**************************

John moved like someone in a dream. Later, if asked, he could never recall exactly what decisions he'd made, how he found himself in various places, only that he had. Everything was like the sections of a dream, disjointed, disconnected, yet somehow running on parallel lines.  
He stood in front of George's house, not knowing how he'd got there, only that he still had his arm around a totally traumatised Paul. Paul still hadn't stopped shaking, still hadn't stopped whispering "ohmygod" in a seemingly endless torrent. John could only hug him. Through the haze, he was aware of passers-by looking at them, at this weird couple. Some in concern, some in disgust. But no one stopped them, no one offered to help. John felt the weight of Paul upon him, mentally more than physically. He gritted his teeth, and hammered at the front door of the neat terrace house. It was opened by Louise, who took one look, asked no questions, just gathered Paul into her arms. At last the keening stopped, and Paul broke into huge, gulping sobs. She held him gently, uttering soft, soothing words, her eyes never leaving John's face. John gave a wry grimace.  
Footsteps sounded behind her, and George was there, hair sticking in all directions.  
"What's up, what's up?" He kept asking. John couldn't speak. Louise drew Paul into the house and George slipped out, pulling the door closed behind him. He looked closely at John, and in George's eyes John could see the same quiet concern he'd met in Louise's.   
"Wanna walk?" George queried, lighting a ciggie. John nodded, wondering what had happened to his voice. He seemed incapable of speech. He ran sweaty, bloodied hands down his jeans, and accepted gratefully the lit ciggie. It wasn't until they were a distance from the house John suddenly blurted out "I think I've killed Paul's dad"  
Whatever it was George had been saying, he stopped, turning anxious dark eyes on John.  
"What?!!"  
John repeated his words. George took a deep drag on his cigarette, absorbing the statement.

********************

They were back at Forthlin Road. Again, John didn't know how he'd got there. It was the next segment of the dream. He assumed it was George's prodding that had encouraged him to retrace his steps. God knows, he didn't want to be there. He really didn't want to know what he'd done, but George propelled him up the path and into the house. A nearby neighbour looked curiously at them as she passed.   
"Where, John?" George hissed. John nodded his head towards the kitchen. He didn't want to know. It would become reality and he couldn't face it. He screwed his eyes up. This wasn't happening. He felt George squeeze his arm. He heard the door open.  
"Nonononono" ran through John's head, a flooding panic.  
"John?"  
George's voice sounded puzzled, not shocked. John opened his eyes as George emerged from the kitchen.  
"There's no body in the kitchen"  
"What?"  
"There's no body in the kitchen, John. Either the corpse has walked, or you didn't kill him"  
John couldn't, hardly dared, believe it. It was a mistake. Someone had been in, someone had found him. He must have spoken his thoughts aloud, because George immediately contradicted him."John, no one ever, EVER, comes to this house...ever! It just doesn't happen"  
"Well, where the hell is he then?"  
John cautiously entered the kitchen. The food, so carefully prepared earlier, this morning, yesterday, a year ago, a lifetime ago, was still on the table.  
But no body.  
John let out a huge sigh "He must be somewhere."  
George gave a huge grin. Only then did John realise how panicked he must have been too.  
"Well wherever he is, he ain't here." George glanced at the table "Food looks good, though. Shame to waste it" . So saying, George helped himself to the cold cheese on toast. It was such a normal, George thing to do. It was the first normal action John had witnessed since the whole nightmare had begun. John began to laugh, And laugh. Having started he couldn't stop. George looked at him with amusement, then, as John carried on, with concern.  
"John? You okay?"  
Tears streamed down John's face.  
"Never been better, son, never been better"

*********************

Half hour later, George and John were sitting in the nearby park, smoking cigarettes and talking.  
"Its no good, John, Paul won't own up to anything. He's desperate to keep his independence." George flicked the ash off his cigarette. "I guess, in a way, I do understand. Me mam and dad do what they can but, y'know, there's not much room at our house, and Paul's too independent to ask. We only get Paul when things are really bad" George took a deep drag of his cigarette, glanced through the flickering leaves to the blue sky above " Christ knows "he muttered, more to himself " how much goes on we never hear about."  
John hummed an acknowledgement, and watched the dancing canopy of leaves above him. He felt a strange mix within himself of relief that he obviously hadn't committed a fatal crime yet a gnawing in his soul that the problem called Paul wasn't solved.  
The teenagers sat in companionable silence, the weight of the world on their shoulders.  
"Thing is" John offered eventually " we do have room, but Mimi won't have Paul in the house"  
George looked at John in disbelief.  
"Won't have him? Why on earth not?"  
"She doesn't like him"  
George looked completely bewildered.  
"Doesn't like?...but..but everyone likes Paul."  
John snorted. "Yeah, everyone except Mimi"  
George drew thoughtfully on his ciggie.  
"Well...He wouldn't live with you anyway. He wouldn't live with us either. Too proud. Doesn't want sympathy, doesn't want help. Unless, of course, like now, when he can't avoid it. Trouble is..." George ground the cigarette under his boot heel " ...whatever you've done..and however good your intentions..you've just made it worse for Paul"  
John's head shot up, amber eyes narrowing  
"...because he's still gonna end up with his dad."  
"Fuck" John muttered. He looked across at George.  
"Has he got any other family?"  
George grimaced." Yeah, there are, but since his mum's death and his dad's "drinking problem" they've tended to stay away. Paul's a big boy, as far as they're concerned..he'll cope."  
George sighed, and turned away, tears blurring briefly. He swiped them away, his voice dropping to a whisper.." trouble is, he doesn't cope. Just wants you to think he does" He drew a breath, and faced John.  
"I've known Paul for years. He was so ..confident. So full of life. I used to envy him. He seemed to have everything..He was bright, good looking, teachers loved him...being around him was like being in the sun's orbit After his mam died, he changed. Not gradually. It was immediate, like someone threw a switch. First I knew there were problems he came to school with his arm in a cast. Then a black eye. The list just grew. I mentioned something to me mam and she said I shouldn't accuse a bereaved and grieving man, but one night Paul turned up at our house in a terrible state, and the truth was out. Me mam's not happy..she wants to report Jim, but Paul's have a fit. Sometimes though " George turned and looked closely at John " sometimes I worry..one day..just..things might really get out of hand.."  
George swallowed. It was his deepest fear, one he didn't dare mention in case it happened.  
It was like a cloud descending on John. It was his fear too.  
"You really like Paul, don't you?" George asked quietly.  
John sighed. "Yup...a bit more than that" he looked at George, then let his gaze drop. That twist in his gut. That yearning he felt. He spoke the words to himself, not sure if they were inside or outside his head "I think I love him"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying this fic..comments appreciated


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath...has John killed Jim?..what to do about Paul. George's quiet support.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doing this on my phone..I've now accidentally deleted two drafts. Third time lucky. Does anyone else do this???

As John and George entered the cramped sitting room of the Harrison's small terrace, Paul leapt up from the settee, his hands fluttering towards John and back to his mouth like a pair of wounded birds.   
"John..oh God..John..my dad..oh. oh God.." He was almost hyperventilating in panic.  
Louise crossed swiftly to him, pulling him into an embrace, stilling the restless hands. She looked at them, a warning in her eyes. No more bad news. He can't cope with anything else.  
"It's okay, Paul it's alright" George reassured him. Louise gave him a questioning look.  
"It is, mum, honest. Me and John have checked."  
He looked to John for support, and John gave a reassuring nod.  
"We've checked...there's no one in the kitchen."  
Paul's eyes followed the dialogue anxiously.  
"Well..there's food left" George added, semblance of a smile across his face.  
"Not now you've been there, there isn't" John snorted.  
Relief broke across Paul's face.  
"Oh God..thank God..I was so worried" he gave a strangled sob " I just wish I could stop fucking crying all the time"  
Louise pulled him closer to her side, and looked at them both over the top of Paul's dark head.  
"Did you check the rest of the house?"  
She saw the look that passed between them.  
"No" George muttered.  
John's heart dropped like a stone. Look well if the old bugger had crawled off and died in another room.  
"No matter" she squeezed Paul's shoulders " when your dad gets back from work he can take Peter with him and check it all out. I think we could all do with a cup of tea. Cheer us up a bit, eh? Pop the kettle on George for us, there's a good lad"  
As George went into the kitchen, Louise sat down on the settee, taking Paul down with her. She nodded to the chair opposite, and John perched on the edge .  
"Now" she said, with a weary smile " tell me exactly what's gone on"  
John's face fell. So much, so much. Twenty four hours...No, not even twenty four hours had passed. Yet it seemed a lifetime. Paul hadn't turned up for band practice. Because he wasn't there to put his part in, they'd finished earlier than usual. John had nearly gone straight home, but he was so annoyed at Paul, on impulse he'd diverted his steps to Forthlin Road. The front door had been open. Not just unlocked, which it usually was, but actually ajar. John had knocked anyway, feeling rude at just walking in, but when there was no reply he went to turn away. It was a sound from upstairs that held him, a suppressed whimper. He'd gone up the stairs two at a time to find Paul cowering in his bedroom, clutching a damaged wrist, blood tricking from a cut above his left eye. He told Louise about the trip to the Infirmary, how he'd stayed with Paul overnight to make sure he was okay, his flight home...though he didn't mention Mimi, he was still so angry at her.....and how he'd collected some food. As he spoke he was aware of Paul watching his lips for every word he spoke, as if trying to make sense of what had happened. Quiet in the shelter of Louise's arms, he absorbed the tale of the last few hours. He didn't interrupt as some parts of what had gone on were either not known to him, or had been so traumatic that his memory had not registered them.  
As John's tale reached its conclusion, George entered with a tray of tea. Louise gave a sigh.  
"Well, Paul is going to stay here for a while.."She waived away Paul's objection.." So..when you're feeling okay you'll have school, so we need a list of what you need. Harold can bring back your uniform and other bits and bobs tonight. Have a think what you need....you can let us know later."   
Paul blinked, somewhat bemused at the change of pace.   
"Right..Well, I have things to do " Louise rose from the settee, briskly rubbing her hands. In her mind, the best thing she could do now was get life back on track. She looked across at John. "Does your aunt know where you are?"  
John looked equally bemused.  
"Er, no...No, she doesn't."  
"She could be worried. You need to get back. You can come round anytime, you know that"  
John ran his fingers through his auburn locks.  
"Er, yeah, hm, right. Right. I'd best be off then" he stood up, and Paul rose too.  
George watched closely, an unfathomable expression on his face.  
Paul took a few steps towards John.  
His voice was breathy "John, I..I just wanted..Well, thanks, y'know, for everything"  
John was aware of George's piercing gaze, and he felt awkward.  
"Oh, s'okay Paul, it's nothing, really" he took a step back from Paul, then another, struggling with the urge to simply gather Paul up and make everything better.  
He grimaced. "Right..Well, must go. See you around"  
He couldn't help see the flash of surprise and hurt that crossed Paul's face. He turned swiftly, and George and Paul heard the front door slam.  
Paul sat back down, stunned.  
"You okay?" George asked.  
Paul looked up at him"John, I..I thought.." He trailed off.  
George sat by him.  
"It's been a difficult few hours, Paul, for him as well."  
Paul nodded, trying to understand, but the hurt was still there in the dark eyes.  
"But..I thought he.." Paul gave himself a mental shake.."never mind" he whispered "s'not important"

***************

Lulled by the warmth and security of the Harrison's home, and a full stomach, Paul fell asleep on the settee. A murmured conversation roused him from his slumber, the voices hushed. Reluctant to emerge from a deep forgetting sleep, he kept his eyes closed, hoping to be ignored.  
"..not a sign...checked...bloody mess...bottles piled up..yes, upstairs..garden too..not a sign. How is he?"  
Paul screwed his eyes tighter shut.   
Next time he woke, it was quiet. He knew it was the middle of the night. Someone had tucked a blanket over him, and in the dark he could sense another presence. He peeked over the edge of the blanket, and could just see the shape of Louise, sitting quietly, dressing gown on. He snuggled further under the blanket, and closed his eyes.

********************

The Harrison's closed ranks around Paul, and George tried to draw him out, considering it a victory every time he managed to raise a smile. But Paul was listening. Waiting. George knew. He didn't have to be told. Paul was waiting for John. But John never came.


	5. Chapter five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul goes back home...

Paul went back. Back home to his father.

************ 

He had remained at the Harrison's for two weeks. Even made it back into school for a couple of days, dodging prying questions, aware of teachers' eyes upon him. His wrist had almost healed. He'd been playing on George's acoustic guitar, holding it upside down to cope with his left-handedness. George had been a silent encouragement through the healing process, quietly cheering him on. The bruises had faded, a slight yellowing remaining. Slowly, slowly he had relaxed, finding his feet.  
But one issue remained. No John. For the first few days, each time the doorbell rang, Paul would leap up, then sit abruptly back down, face flushed. He was listening, always listening, always waiting.  
George was annoyed, angry and frustrated on Paul's behalf. He thought John would at least have made enquiries. There were no messages about any band practice. It was as if John had disappeared off the face of the earth.

The Harrison's were more than prepared to offer a permanent home to Paul, despite their cramped conditions. The settee had become Paul's overnight bed. He had slotted into the routine of the house easily, and there was nothing more enjoyable to Louise than to see the enthusiasm with which Paul attacked mealtimes. Nothing was said to Paul about his immediate future, and he seemed content to let things be. And for George it was brilliant that he had his best mate on hand for company.

It was the beginning of June, just before Paul's seventeenth birthday. A beautiful, balmy evening. There was only Paul and George in the house, and Louise pottering around, tidying up the hallway, when there was a lot of hammering on the front door. They heard Louise answer, and another voice. Questioning. George saw the colour drain from Paul's face. He stood up, sat down, then stood again, alarmed. Louise entered the sitting room, her face white, closely followed by Paul's father. George moved unconsciously to Paul's side. Jim McCartney ignored him.  
"Get your things, Paul, you're coming home" It was a statement. No arguing.  
Paul looked silently at Louise. She met his gaze blankly, distress written across her face.  
George stepped forward, alarmed that his mother had not intervened. "No..No, he can't" he turned, distressed, to his mother "Mum..He can't..He.."  
Louise shushed him "George, ssh,..we..we don't have the right to keep Paul"  
George was sure he saw a smug smile cross Jim's face. Paul looked at George, at Louise, he chewed his lip nervously. His legs had turned to jelly. He wasn't sure he could move. Then his father's voice cut across the hesitation.  
"Now, Paul, not tomorrow. I'll give you five minutes and I want you out that door"  
Galvanised into action, Paul quickly ran up the stairs, throwing his belongings into a bag. His heart was beating fast, his mind numb. Everything was in a whirl. He dashed back down the stairs to find everyone frozen in the same place. He opened his mouth to say something, then realised he didn't know what to say. He looked wordlessly at his father. Jim simply took hold of Paul's elbow and steered him out the door. Paul glanced back to see Louise watching his departure in silence. Only as the door closed behind him did he realise he'd never said thank you.

"Mum" George hissed " what's going on? Why have you let him go?"  
Louise sighed. Her whole body drooped. "He's not my child, George. I don't have the right..."  
"But..after what he did.....couldn't you threaten to report him?"  
Louise sank down on the nearest chair. Every inch of her empty. "Not that easy, love" she sighed "He said if we reported him, he'd report John for assault. He knew Paul was here, and, somehow, he knew who John was."  
"But..Christ, after what he did to Paul..surely.."  
Louise looked closely at her son. "George, Paul is never going to report on his father. He just won't do it, love"  
George was so frustrated, he was close to tears.  
"But..but.."  
"Ssh" Louise hushed him " when your dad gets back, we'll see if he can think of anything."

 

*********************

Days went by, and George continued to fume. It seemed to him that no one was doing anything. In his naivety, he didn't realise there was nothing anyone could do. He kept finding odd things around the house that Paul had left behind after his hasty departure...an odd sock, a toothbrush, a guitar pick. George stashed them away, as if by holding on to them he could hold on to Paul.

He didn't see John, and he didn't see Paul. He tried to talk to his mother about his worries, but she had her own to cope with. Inside she felt guilty over her inability to protect Paul. Unbeknownst to George, his parents had chewed the problem over, but not arrived at any answer.  
Finally, George could stand it no longer. It was the week before Paul's birthday, and he called round. No one answered the door. He knocked again. Finally, Paul opened the door. George's eyes quickly scanned over him, looking for bruises, for problems. Apart from looking thinner and paler, Paul seemed okay. Except..he wasn't. His eyes looked blank, empty.  
"Hi..okay?"  
Paul started. "Oh.Hi George. Yeah, m'fine"  
"Can I come in?"  
Paul squirmed, uncomfortable.  
"Er..No, sorry, dad said..No..No visitors"  
"You sure you're okay?"  
Paul sighed. "Yeah...Yeah, m'okay."Paul injected a little more life into his voice. "Honest, George, don't worry about me"  
"You been to school?"  
"What? Oh..school, yeah."  
Paul suddenly brightened "Have you seen John?"  
George felt a flash of jealousy which he pushed down  
"No, sorry, I haven't Paul. Not since..since.." He trailed off, and Paul squirmed uncomfortably.  
"Oh. Right. Just wondered."  
An awkward silence fell. Paul rubbed the side of his nose, a nervous gesture George was familiar with.  
"Well..er, I'd best be getting on. Thanks for coming round, like"  
George suddenly exploded.  
"Christ Paul, how can y'be okay after everything that happened?"  
Paul jumped, startled, his eyes going wide. That was when George knew...No, things weren't okay. They were far from okay. He could see it in Paul's eyes.

****************

George had never been to John's house before, but he knew where he lived. He hammered on the door, ignoring the bell. Mimi answered, looking rather annoyed.  
"What on earth? Who are you?"  
George ignored her question.  
"Is John in?"  
"Well, yes, but..."  
George pushed past her, shouting "John!!"  
John darted out of his room, his hair askew, his glasses on.  
"George?? George, what the fuck?"  
"John..."George skidded to a halt "We need to talk"

 

****************


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George and John, and the problem called Paul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know how I plan to start this chapter, but can't decide on an end, so...

As the bedroom door closed behind John, George rounded on him, a strung bundle of hair and teeth and fury.  
"Where the fuck have you been, Lennon, these last two weeks. Not a word, not a fucking word from you. You just buggered off out of our lives. I thought you cared about Paul...."  
John opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't get a word in.  
"...least, that was the impression you gave, but you've never called round, not once, and now..."....George suddenly deflated"...now he's back with his dad and..."George's fire went out, and he sat down heavily on John's bed, the last words being almost a whisper " and its all gone to shit"  
A flicker of emotion crossed John's face, and he sat down by George.  
"With his dad?" John queried.  
George looked closely at John, at the amber eyes that bore into him through the thick rimmed glasses.  
"Yeah...with his dad"  
John heaved a sigh, and ran his fingers through his hair. The auburn locks stood in all directions.  
"Oh..Shit"  
George looked appealingly at him.  
"Why did you never come round? Paul was...waiting..he never said, but I know he was"  
John heaved another sigh.  
"It was...difficult"  
George examined his face "Difficult? And you don't think it was difficult for me n'Paul?"  
"Look, George, I know it seems odd, me just disappearing, but I...I didn't know what to do. It all got a bit intense..."  
"Intense? Your fucking telling me it got intense. You told me you loved Paul..."  
John's face flared red "I didn't mean like that, George, I meant...meant..."  
"Well, whatever you meant, you obviously mean a lot to Paul.."  
"...'m'not queer, George.."  
"Because the only thing that brings Paul to life at the moment is the mention of your name. I've just been round, and all he wants to know is have I seen you"  
John looked intently at George.  
"Me?"  
George gave a weary smile. "Yeah, you"  
"You've been round, y'say?"  
"Yeah...just come from there."  
"I thought...Well, I sort of picked up he was staying with you"  
"He was, till his dad turned up and demanded him back"  
"But..after everything?"  
"Threatened to report you, didn't he, if we didn't hand Paul over"  
John ran a hand over his face, taking off his glasses and knuckling his eyes.  
"Fuck....fuck, fuck, fuck.."  
George gave a small chuckle. "You could say that. But..seriously..what's happened? No band practice either?"  
John sighed yet again. "Haven't had the heart"  
"And?" George prompted.  
John looked closely at George. "Me aunt's not happy 'bout what I'm getting mixed up in here. And, to be honest George, I don't know what I can do to help Paul. I mean, I tried to help, but just made it worse."  
"So you're gonna clear out and leave him to it, then"  
"No..no, I'm not. I just.."John shrugged "dunno what I can do"  
"Well, fer a start, y' could go see him."  
"Is he okay?"  
George looked intently at him, before answering in a single syllable "No"  
"His dad's not.."  
"Not that I can see, but..it's like he's dead..no spark. Oh...and his dad won't allow visitors, so..."  
This time, John ran both hands over his face, through his hair. His voice was a whisper  
"I dunno if I can do it, George..."  
George stood up, his piece said.  
"Well, you'd better, Lennon. If I can, you can."

***************

John's footsteps took him unwittingly to Forthlin Road.  
He lingered, walking up and down, ignoring the stares directed at him. He had no idea if anyone was in..by anyone, read Jim. He hoped Paul was. As it was a school evening, and Paul was in the middle of exams, there was every chance that he would be. As he dallied, the front door opened and Jim McCartney emerged. John ducked his head, turning his back quickly. Surreptitiously, he watched Jim stride off down the street. As soon as he was gone, John was down the path like a shot, and in through the front door.  
Inside he paused. Not a sound. He peeked into the kitchen that held such terrifying memories for him. Apart from the usual pile of washing up amid bottles, it was empty. He slipped quietly up the stairs, and opened the door to Paul's room.  
Paul was sitting with his back to the door, working at his desk. With the sound of the door opening, he shot to his feet. At the sight of John, his eyes widened. Next moment, he was in John's arms, clutching him as if he'd never let him go, babbling incoherently. John's mouth twitched, as he peeled Paul off him.  
"Hey, Macca...what a greeting. Are you okay?"  
Paul looked at him with wide eyes, as if he couldn't believe John was really there. He opened, closed, opened then closed his mouth again. He only managed one word, and that was "John" which came out muffled as he had buried his dark head on John's chest again. John's arms closed around him, inhaling the scent of Paul. John rested his chin on top of Paul's head, murmuring into it "M'sorry, Paul, m'sorry I never came round"  
"I ...I thought..I..you.." Paul couldn't make a coherent sentence. John just rubbed his back comfortingly.  
"I know. I know. I'm here now"  
Paul was still mumbling into John's chest   
"M'dad..no..no.one allowed.."  
John kept rubbing soothingly "Yeah..I know. George said. Y'dad's gone out, love"  
John felt Paul slump against him, and Paul's arms snaked round John's waist. John could feel dampness through his t shirt.  
"M'so happy to see you..."Paul sobbed quietly.  
John tried to prise Paul off him, but Paul clung with a tenacity John didn't know he possessed.  
"Paul..Hey, come on. Let me see you. I don't wanna hold a conversation with the top of your head. Tell me, how y'been doing?"  
Gently, John pulled Paul down till they were sitting on the narrow bed. Paul's eyes, damp with tears, didn't leave John's face. It was as if he was afraid to blink in case John disappeared. John felt a pang of guilt. He didn't realise he'd caused such distress by his absence.  
Paul swiped a hand across his eyes, and gave a nervous giggle.  
"Sorry, I don't know what came over me"  
John gave his shoulders a squeeze.  
"It's okay..it's allowed. Now, how you been? And..your dad, is he okay?"  
Paul nodded.  
"S'okay, I guess. He doesn't talk to me much..just says I'm only allowed out to school, an' I can't have anyone round. Get a bit bored but..I'm okay"  
John looked closely at him.  
"He's not hit you again?"  
Paul coloured slightly, and shook his head. John's eyes scrutinised him carefully. Couldn't see any bruises, but Paul had a rather fragile look to him that he didn't like.  
"Are you being fed?"  
Paul looked up in surprise.  
"What?"  
"You've lost weight...Are you eating?"  
Paul looked down at his hands, fiddling  
"Yeah..Yeah, I get a meal at school"  
"That's one meal, Paul, what about here?"  
John had too vivid memories of the empty cupboards. Paul shrugged "I don't need much.."He murmured.  
John snorted "Christ, Paul, no wonder you're so skinny. At this rate, you'll make George look like the Fat Lady"  
They both burst out laughing at the picture this drew. Then John took Paul's hands, stilling them.  
"Seriously, Macca, y'need more than one meal a day. Have you got some money to get something? Look.." John began to rummage in his pockets for change.  
Paul's face flared red. "I don't need charity, John"  
Suddenly there was a distance between them. Paul was on his feet, clenching and unclenching his fists.  
"I can look after myself..I..I don't want your money"  
John stopped, his hands outstretched in submission.  
"Okay..Okay..alright..I just thought.."  
"Yeah, well, I'm okay, okay?"  
John nodded. Oh the pride in this young man. How difficult it was to offer Paul help.  
Paul sat down by John again, this time maintaining a distance. John reached over and took one of Paul's hands. He ran his thumb over the long slender fingers. Paul kept his eyes stubbornly on the floor.  
"Paul.." John's voice was hushed. He saw a tremor pass over Paul. But still the dark eyes remained fixed on the floor. He reached across and took Paul's other hand, linking their fingers together.  
"Paul..please..look at me"  
Finally, Paul raised his head, meeting John's burning eyes.   
"Paul, I just wanted..wanted to say.." God, there was such depth to those eyes, Brown, green,one could drown in them. John leaned nearer, and nearer. Paul remained perfectly still, almost frozen. Finally, John's lips met his. The kiss was soft, tender, and for John the world stood still.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds himself in a "situation" with Paul.and, hell, I dont know how far it's gonna go!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now then!! I can read smut but I ain't comfortable writing it, so probably be more insinuated!! Okay??

John leant into the kiss, and Paul didn't back away. He remained. John deepened the kiss, cupping his hand round the back of Paul's head, pulling him in as he searched Paul's mouth, his tongue seeking access. He felt a jolt go through Paul, then suddenly he was in. Warmth spread through John's body, an urgent desire, and he tightened his hold, grasping at the longer hair at the back of Paul's head. He felt a resistance, but the warmth was turning to a burning heat of desire within John, and he used both his arms to pull Paul closer to him, pressing their bodies together. He could feel Paul trembling in his arms, and warning bells began to ring in John's head. The need to take a deep gulping breath caused John to pause, and Paul broke backwards away from him, his eyes wide and dark, face flushed, lips parted. Never had John desired him more than at that moment. It took every bit of willpower John had to back off. Don't fuck this up, don't fuck this up, he muttered to himself.  
Paul was alarmed, flight, fright, written all over his face. But he didn't, and for that John had hope, was grateful.  
"John..."Paul breathed, his eyes still dark "you..you..I..I don't..I'm not."Paul struggled to find the words. Finally he burst out "I'm not queer, John"  
John smiled patiently, as if dealing with a young child  
"Didn't say you were, son. Neither am I. I've got a girlfriend, remember? Cyn?"  
"Well...well..what was that about?"  
John looked closely at Paul. The scar above his left eye was still very vivid, and John unconsciously reached across and rubbed his calloused thumb over it. It served as a reminder to John that Paul was still, at the moment, in a vulnerable state, and it would be unfair to push him.  
"It can be about whatever you want, son, or nothing" John replied. He didn't mean it to sound trivial, but was aware of the fact it probably did. In truth, he was finding it difficult to deal with his own feelings.There was something about Paul..He couldn't put his finger on it. Maybe it was the androgynous beauty that the young  
man possessed that sparked this emotion in John.  
He ran his hands tiredly over his face, aware of the fact Paul's eyes were glued on him, awaiting an explanation.  
Don't hurt him, John warned himself, don't hurt him. He's been hurt enough.  
He looked up at Paul and flashed a smile. But Paul's face remained serious.  
"I'm not a pushover, John.."Paul started, his pride rising to the surface"you can't just come in here and..and..do..whatever you want with me. Just because..because.." Paul faltered, his face falling as he struggled to keep his dignity. John pulled him in to his body, wrapping his arms around him.  
"Ssh, Paul. Come on..I didn't mean to upset you, and I don't think you're a ..well, an easy target. I seriously don't know what came over me, and I'm sorry. But" he pushed Paul gently away from him, and looked at the face that was inches away from his " ..it was bloody good, though. Hard to apologise, cos I enjoyed it."  
He gave a broad grin, trying to ease the situation, and to his relief, Paul gave an answering, if wobbly, smile.  
"Might warn me you're gonna do that next time, Lennon" Paul chided. John breathed a sigh of relief. Tension over.  
He surreptitiously moved away slightly from Paul on the narrow bed. His eyes darted round the small room, coming to rest on the desk. He steered the conversation onto normal channels.  
"Revising?"He enquired.  
Paul nodded, relieved to be on steady ground.  
"Yeah, I've got English in a couple of days"  
"Couple of days? Isn't that your birthday?"  
Paul flushed with surprise and delight that John had remembered.  
"Yeah..Yeah it is."  
"Ah..no longer a sweet sixteen. So.."John rubbed his hands together "what we doing for your birthday then? Any plans?"  
Paul looked shocked, as if John had suggested a trip to the moon.  
"Er..no.."He shook his head" no plans."  
"Can't have that, Macca...gotta do something on your seventeenth. Big boy now"  
Paul snorted. "Been a big boy for a while now, Johnny"  
John gave an evil smirk "Not as big as me yet, son, I'll bet!"  
Paul coloured slightly, and John smiled to himself. It was so easy to embarrass Paul.  
"So..this 'penance' of your dad's..how longs it gonna last? Y'know..no one round, can't go out?"  
Paul slumped. John noticed.  
"I..er, I dunno, John. He was pretty mad. But "Paul brightened "he'll forget soon. He always does. Things tend to drift back to normal"  
John didn't like to ask what "normal" entailed.  
He reached across to Paul and gently stroked his cheek, following the fine cheekbones down to the chin. Paul's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't back off.  
"One day" John murmured softly" One day I'm gonna take you away from all this. I dunno how, yet, but I will. I promise."

**************

John paced up and down in the cramped dressing room. A lunchtime gig at the Cavern in July when most Scousers had buggered off to Blackpool or Wales for their holiday wasn't a lot to write home about, but hell it was better than nothing. A bit of money, some exposure. Here they were minutes to going on and missing their main singer and guitarist.  
"Where the fuck is he? I'll bloody murder him. Honestly, Paul has a crap sense of timing for such a good musician."  
George took a deep drag on his cigarette, and raised an eyebrow at Pete, who was twiddling a drumstick.  
"He'll arrive, John, y'know that"  
"For fucksake, we're on in ten minutes. I'll beat the shit outta him when he turns up."  
As John's words left his lips, the door to the dressing room opened and Paul slipped in, dressed in leather jacket, black t shirt and tight jeans. John's heart leapt at the sight of him.  
"Where the fuck have you been? We're on in a minute!! Better get your guitar tuned up quick, mate"  
John, of course, did not have his glasses on, but even so it was obvious that Paul was guitarless.  
"I..I don't have it, John" he said softly.  
John squinted disbelievingly "Y'don't what? Fucking hell, Paul..."  
George waved a warning hand at John. John looked closer at Paul in the dim light. One side of Paul's face was bloodied and bruised, eye closed, and he was walking with a weird list. John's heart sank.  
"Oh, fucking hell, not again."  
George moved swiftly to Paul's side while Pete watched devoid of emotion.  
"What happened?" George queried softly. Paul looked at him, and just shook his head, unable to trust his voice.  
"May as well go home if he ain't playing" Pete interjected.  
John shot him a look that could kill.  
"You go home if you want, Pete, but me n'George here are gonna do this gig, an' Paul'll be on the stage with us..."  
Beside him, Paul was shaking his head.  
"Yes you will, Paul, cos you're part o'the group, and you'll still pull the birds even if your dad has tried to rearrange your face"  
George came up behind Paul and squeezed his shoulders reassuringly.  
"Sit off to the side of the wings, no one'll see you" he whispered.  
As the group started their set, Paul slid slowly down the wall till he was sitting on the floor. He drew his knees up to his chin, and sank his head into his hands. John knew by the shaking of his shoulders he was crying.  
"Bugger" John thought to himself. He'd promised Paul he'd get him out of this situation, and here was history repeating itself.  
John hit their set with fury, unbridled anger, and passion, and his vocals burned across the stage. Beside him he could feel George giving it his all. He was aware every second of Paul sitting off to the side. Finally he became aware of Paul's eyes on him, watching. He flashed a smile in Paul's direction, and got an answering smile in return.

***************

John hassled and hassled. Finally, Mimi gave in.  
"One night, John..that's all. One night"  
One night meant one night less in that shithouse for Paul. One night.  
At first, Paul refused to go. He knew well Mimi didn't like him and he was, after all, very proud.  
"Not doing it for you" John insisted "it's for me. I'm fed up with being on my own with that old bint"  
Paul looked at him suspiciously.  
"S'true" John said.  
So Paul packed an overnight bag. And the one night turned into another, and another.  
He shared John's room, and John's bed.  
Keep it slow, John thought. Don't push.  
He knew Paul had responded to him once. It could happen again, couldn't it?

********************

"Earth to Lennon. Earth to Lennon. Anyone there?"  
John's eyes peeled open blearily. He met a pair of sparkling dark eyes, amusement shining through.  
"Hey, Johnny, where were you? You've been drooling. Must have been a good dream"  
Paul..in a suit..and tie...and...tall? When did he get that tall?  
John must have spoken the question out loud.  
A frown crossed Paul's face, before being replaced by a beaming smile.  
"I'm taller than you now, Johnny, have been for a couple of years."  
Paul suddenly sat down by John, confused.  
"Are you okay?"  
John ran a hand over his face. Slowly he took in his surroundings. And the fact he was wearing an identical suit to Paul.  
"Er..."He croaked " where are we?"  
Paul's smile grew wider.  
"America. Memphis. On tour. We're on in about half an hour."  
John dragged himself back to the land of the living.The smile fell from Paul's face as he eyed his bandmate with consternation.  
"You sure you're okay?"  
John heaved a big sigh.  
"M'fine, Paulie, just been dreaming. It was very...real"  
Paul smiled again, impishly"Oh yeah, what about?"  
John looked closely at him"You!!"  
"Me??"  
"Yeah, you, princess. You take up a lot of my mind space"  
Paul leaned across and gave him a tender kiss.  
"Yeah, but I'm worth it!"

**Author's Note:**

> Comments appreciated. Ta for reading.


End file.
